


To You, Two Thousand Years to the Future

by motoroilfreeway



Series: Two Thousand Years [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Gore, Heartbreak, M/M, Reincarnation AU, Shingeki no Kyojin AU, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mentions of torture, over throwing the monarchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: Sequel to To You, Two Thousand Years from the Past. Arthur's story before he was dug out of the archeological site.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I have zero clue on how archeology works. Also, be reminded that this is in Arthur's POV and doesn't focus on the matter at hand. You'll see.
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTES IN THE END NOTES, SO PLEASE, LET'S ALL READ IT BEFORE YOU SHOOT ME QUESTIONS LATER, OKAY?

**Year 818**

                Being a bastard child of a noble, Arthur grew up shunned by the man who refused to call himself his father. His mother was a dirty whore from a brothel in the underground who was promised by some kind of a noble heir life and opportunity in the surface, as his wife and consort. She had believed his words, of course, as the man was awfully sincere and very sweet towards her. Bringing bouquets of beautiful flowers that must’ve cost thrice the price people pay for her services. Maybe even more.

It does not also help that the strings of words etched on their skins says they were born for each other.

Soul mates, is what they are. His first words on her skin as hers were on his.

His mother had always told him it was love at first sight. With a sigh on her tired lips and that dreamy look on her eyes shadowed heavily from lack of sleep, she’ll make time to lie on their bed and tuck him in and tell him their supposed love story. How he had gotten his father’s golden hair and his beautiful eyes that would shine brighter than any emeralds he had given her.

He was such the perfect gentleman any noblewoman or man would ever want.

And he had chosen a lowly underground whore such as her to spend the rest of his life with.

She was so happy, she would tell Arthur.

But then suddenly the heir’s visits had suddenly stopped. No goodbyes or farewell. Just gone.

It broke her heart, of course. The thought of losing her other half---her soul mate---as well as spending the rest of her days in the darkness and dampness of the underground made her depressed.  It made it harder not to when she could barely support herself unless she worked herself to the ground day and night (not like it makes any difference in the underground).

When she had finally admitted to herself that her beloved will no longer come back for her, she had resolved to end her life.

That is, until she realised she was with child.

That was probably her saving grace, she would tell her son frequently even until she was on her death bed, all skin and bones and shivering as she could no longer afford to work, her body no longer appealing to anyone to buy her. Until her very last breath, she told her son, her darling boy, that _he is always loved_.

Arthur was probably eight years old when his mother died from hunger and disease. He remembered crying as he held her frail hand to his face, wept and shed tears on them.

He remembered crying for days until his tears could no longer flow, and then when her body started to smell and her skin to fall off her form, he just settled on sitting on the floor beside her bed. His back resting on the cold hard wall as he hugged his knees close to his chest.

He couldn’t remember how long he had been stuck like that, with sleep and food being the least of his problems.

And then suddenly, amidst the infinite sea of darkness, the door slams open and in a man with hair the color of blood, brighter and more fiery than his mother’s had been. The smile on his face a tad terrifying as he announced his entrance, calling his mother’s name as she continued to lie unmoving and silent on the bed. Arthur wonders if he could smell the stench of death that saturated the room for weeks.

“Hey, you finally died on me, you whore?” He asks her, but Arthur can tell how his voice became solemn, cracking as his breath shuddered and plopped beside Arthur, his long legs spread out in front of his as he props his hat uncaringly on his head, tilting it a bit to cover his eyes.

Then he turns a curious gaze at him, eyes bright and green as Arthur’s but at the same time, not quite.

“What are you supposed to be?”

It made Arthur think for a while, remember his mother’s words and stories about a nobleman who promised her the sun and the stars. Now his mother is dead, her corpse rotting on their small, shared bed.

“My mother used to call me Arthur,” Arthur tried not to wince as his voiced cracked and failed him as he spoke, but continued nonetheless. “What about you?” He turns his head weakly to ask the man beside him and hears him sigh, heavy and tired.

“People call me Alistair,” then his lips quirk, showing sharp canines and yellowing teeth, his eyes still bright and burning as he stared Arthur down. “I guess we’re the same now, aren’t we, _Arthur_?”

 

                To make it simple, a man who was known in the underground as _Alistair the ripper_ took him under his wing. He brings him along whenever the man goes out to do business. Whether it was to sell stolen goods or kill someone who looked at him wrong, Alistair made sure Arthur had the front row seat to watch him do it.

There are times that Alistair even talks aloud whenever he’s busy carving a military policeman, his entrails tossed on the dirty floor of a dark alley, his fingers buried in an eye-socket.

“Eyeballs are naturally rubbery, rather tough than what you would usually think. You can’t just _poke_ an eye with your fingers. See?” He gestures at his fingers, buried deep in the opening. He hears the squelching as Alistair slowly pushes in and out, making a point at which Arthur silently nods.

“Show me your fingers, kid.” And Arthur does, without question.

“Here, you try,” He scoots over, giving Arthur enough space to get as close as Alistair does. At Alistair’s gesture, he gingerly pokes at the other eye, clear and unseeing and feels its firmness against his finger. Alistair laughs when Arthur makes a curious face at it.

“You gotta use your thumb first, and make sure you press _hard_.”

He nods at Alistair’s instruction, about to as told when Alistair suddenly stops him, “Wait. Your fingers are small enough, so try slipping your thumb into the corner and get it around the eyeball.” Arthur nods again.

Slowly, he slips his thumb in, remembering to keep pressure and his finger firm, and with a wet squelch, it slips in, blood seeping out the deeper his finger goes. When he looks at the older man for further instruction, he gets a nod and so continues on. He got as deep as his entire thumb could bury itself and he can feel the eyeball in his fingers, hard and rubbery, as Alistair had described. He can’t help but slightly poke it with his fingernail and feel it.

There was this strange look in Alistair’s eyes, Arthur had felt, as he watched Arthur curiously poke and push his finger in at Alistair’s every word. Alistair’s face lightens up when Arthur properly takes the eyeball out with his little fingers and Arthur, despite himself, felt himself preen, his lips slightly twitching into a semblance of a smile.

He felt himself lean into his touch when a clean hand gently ruffles his head into a mess of dirty head. Alistair just laughs as he praises when Arthur turns his head away, nose scrunching and the eyeball between his fingers were dropped to fix his hair with the same hand, further dirtying it with blood and gore.

By the time Arthur squeaks in realisation, Alistair was already far gone, rolling on the dirty concrete with tears in his eyes and both hands grasping at his stomach.

 

            In a span of six months, Arthur had spent his time gaining back the strength in his limbs, all skin and bones as well as learning everything he could from what Alistair tells him or shows him.

After that, Alistair vanishes. Just like that.

When Alistair had failed to return home one night, Arthur, after months spent with the man, had assumed that Alistair had finally gotten what was coming for him. That he was probably in some dark alley, crawling and bloody as he laughs at his cruel end.

Then again, knowing Alistair, he had probably chosen to sit still and light one of his expensive smokes, to die in style.

He’s strange like that.

And despite it all, Arthur had wished he were wrong.

That maybe some pretty whore caught Alistair’s eye and kept him occupied for a while. Or he found someone to make fun of and he will come home bloody and stinking of death and Arthur will tell him off to go take a bath before he make any more mess of the floor Arthur just cleaned.

A day then a week passes.

No hair nor shadow of the man was seen again.

Arthur was alone.

 

**Year 838**

            He had wasted thirty years of his life in the underground, doing muscle work and simple smuggling with little killings in the side to provide himself some coins he wasted on watching men and women alike fuck on their beds and buy expensive tea from the surface, trying to find what people called “life”.

Everything was so fucking empty.

And then the military comes in, calls him a criminal for being an underground scum and threatens him with execution unless he join their stupid faction.

All just because he learned how to use their stupid 3D manoeuvring gears like an actual pro.

Fuck humanity, he told them.

And he received kicks and punches, got his face thrown in the mud for it.

It was to do or die.

And in a way, Arthur still had an unfulfilled wish, so he chooses survival.

He joins the Survey Corps, the annoying black of gibberish an annoying burn on his skin.

 

          It was expected, of course, when people looked at him with contempt.

He couldn’t bring himself to care for them, unfortunately.

The stupid cravat wrapped neatly around his neck felt like an annoying weight and the standard military vest was too tight and short for him. Nonetheless, he fucking took it like a man and strolled up the platform, face set into a hard glare that would make sure everyone knew he’s not someone to mess with. He pointedly ignores the mixed look of curiosity, caution, and wonder as he crosses his arms, stubborn and simply says, “Arthur.”

He pointedly ignores the confused looks the soldiers shoot towards him. He’s introduced himself.

His name is Arthur. Just Arthur. It’s all who he is, and now, he was instructed to join the Survey Corps, kill titans, save the humanity, and all that fancy crap.

Who knew that the only thing he will truly be good at is killing?

 

**Year 842**

             From a lowly private, he gets promoted up to a captain, was given his own squad because it is befitting of someone in his rank. He doesn’t really care, so he tells Vargas---the bastard---that he’s fine with whoever he assigns to him.

In a way, Arthur thought that Vargas did this on purpose, just to teach him yet another lesson.

Four new recruits, fresh graduates, all bright faces and shining eyes.

They all look up to him, wholly and truly. Their salutes sincere and their nods of understanding earnest. Arthur, who was used to two years of mocking salutes and sarcastic replies, was taken a back at first. Actually, he had thought that the brats were simply fucking with him, still stuck with the thought that everyone in the faction knows of his background and thus does not see him as one of their own.

“Ma-fucking-ria, I said not to use too much gas! Use your fucking momentum! It conserves the shit and makes your manoeuvre smoother! You think titans will let you sit on your arse to refill? They fucking won’t!” Arthur shouts, feeling the veins in his throat about to explode. The heat is making him more irritable than usual.

“But Sir---!”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, _Private!_ ”

“It’s just that it’s not what we were taught back at the academy…”

One of the brats---Williams, if he remembers right---winces when Arthur redirects his glare at him, eyes squinting because he had to look up. It annoys him so much to realise that brats are so much taller than him in the surface.

Williams’ height does not seem to lessen Arthur’s intimidation though, as the new recruit immediately looks away, avoiding eye-contact. He mumbles, “Please give us some slack, Sir. We’ve been at this since morning and it has been the same manoeuvre since then.”

Arthur’s scowl deepens, hands on his hips gripping tighter. “And we’ll fucking---“ Williams winces at the language, “---do the same thing over _and_ _over_ again until you brats get it right.”

“Arthur!”

Arthur looks up and across the training ground, he sees Vargas along with other commanders, a parchment of paper in hand with his eyes directed at Arthur, voice reprimanding. Arthur scowls.

Arthur then turns away and sighs, his breath hot and angry. “Alright, we take a break!” He announces to his squad.

 

                Arthur felt himself sigh in relief when the cool water from the well hits his face.

He didn’t realise the intensity of the heat until then. Maybe Vargas was right that he should take a break, no matter how much it appears that his squad has yet to need it. They barely passed his simple manoeuvring tests.

He does not flinch when a large hand drops to grip his shoulder firmly. He knows it was Vargas, his face set into a carefree smile that would always leave every soldier in their faction wondering how a man like him managed to stay so cheerful in a place full of death and failure.

Arthur supposes that that is why.

He barely pays the man a glance, his gaze cold and focused on his squad, young and clumsy in their exercise, tottering stupidly like a new born cattle that just learned how to walk. It makes Arthur’s blood boil and the coolness of the water on his heated skin could do nothing about it.

“Go easy on them,” He heard Vargas say, a weary tone in his voice. It sounded like the commander has actually meant it.

He doesn’t.

“You gave me _soldiers_ to fight your war, and I will treat them as such. I’m not your baby-sitter.” He wipes at the water dripping down his chin with the sleeve of his military-issued coat, the cloth darkening from the water. He shrugs Vargas’ heavy hand on him roughly, making sure he shoved the hand back to where it belonged, and walks away, back to his squad to bark out orders.

“Break’s over!” He announces, setting his own gear for action. He was hoping that a demonstration will do them good.

If they failed to do so, Arthur supposes that it will no longer be his fault. He tried his best.

Sometimes people were just meant to die.

 

**Year 850**

                Wall Maria falls at the very day they return home from yet another failed expedition, taking home more casualties and corpses than the mile they could cover. No matter how hard they tried, an inch step will always be three steps back once titans show up and devour them all. In the corner of Arthur’s eyes, he sees little boys, one with a scowl set on his face and the other with a crestfallen look, eyes focused on Vargas’ face that refused to return their looks.

Vargas’ grandchildren.

Arthur imagines the weight of the humiliation they have once again brought humanity, imagines how he would have felt if he actually felt the piercing stares of the people as they walk the walk of shame, listen to their loud remarks of disdain and how their tax money goes to nothing, being wasted on corpses and failure.

_The walls protect us from the titans, what is the point of you fools leaving for?_

To freedom, Arthur wanted to tell them.

To run towards the horizon, see the _sea_.

It was a stupid book, see. Something he found for sale in the black market back in the days he was still a lowly thug in the underground.

Something banned and supposed to be long forgotten and erased, as thoughts that will incite people to leave the walls is forbidden, and a book such as this that describes the lands outside the walls is a tool great enough to do so.

One of the texts explains the concept of a body of water, bigger than a lake or river. That contains barrels upon barrels of salt, filled with endless supplies of fish and all other kinds that they have yet to see. Filled with riches better than the emeralds and sapphires Arthur can get his hands on.

Wide and endless, was the sea.

In a way, it was another reason why he agreed to join the survey corps, citizenship in the surface aside.

His thoughts come to a halt---as well as his horse and the entirety of their battalion---when a woman blocks their path, hysterical. She could not find her son in any of the posts.

When Vargas comes forward, face grim, Arthur decides to block it all out. He’s too tired and dirty from all the titan killings and running and deaths for the day that he couldn’t afford to endure a minute of drama and fake sincere apologies coming from Vargas’ mouth.

When all that is needed to say was said and done, they continue on and leave.

A few hours after that, the news of the wall being penetrated by a colossal titan—the titan’s type first seen and heard of---followed by an armoured one---the first one, as well---came to them. There was a strange look in Vargas’ eyes, in how they dulled, before he issued a command to have the refugees checked, just to see if any of the soldiers’ relatives ever survived.

He doesn’t seem to be concerned of the well beings of his grandsons and remembering Alistair…

Arthur kept his mouth shut.

When Arthur notices that the nonsensical scribbles of dark ink in the underside of his wrist became a strings of ugly handwriting, specks of ink scattered on every word, Arthur felt himself scoff, surprising a mourning squad. _Williams_ , his mind supplies him. The only survivor of his squad. The boy the titans had failed to notice.

Arthur thinks that the appearance of his soul mate will be a bad omen.

A beginning of bad things.

 

**Year 855**

                It was five years later, after the fall of Wall Maria that it happens again.

The colossal titan was sighted and the wall of Trost district falls, allowing titans to enter and attack the town.

Compared to Zhinganshina, the garrison was prepared and the people were easily evacuated.

At the cost of the lives of the fresh recruits.

At that time, just their luck, the Survey Corps just left the walls the very same day. They passed the fucking titans that attacked Trost and thus failed to assist in evacuating the civilians.

By the time they got there, the sun was almost down, the hole in the wall surprisingly remedied with a giant rock that seemed impossible to be plugged there with their current technology and with an instruction of the highest priority that Arthur---their current best---had to be sent on site for a retrieval mission, because fuck, they actually won a fight against the titans and ironically enough, it wasn’t a war fought by the Scouting Legion because they were busy fighting a different war.

He comes across a bunch of brats, crowding around an evaporating titan carcass. They all appeared haggard and tired, from all the fighting and deaths, their grips on their blades firm and steady, their forms perfect---perfected from experience, the necessity to survive---and the sudden death of not one but two titans at once seemed to have calmed their nerves and for a moment, Arthur thought their faces actually suited their ages.

These are mere children and they’re in the middle of a war already. What a cruel world they live in.

“What’s the situation?” He shouts at them, the slick titan blood disgusting as it evaporates from his skin. He couldn’t help but frown.

There was silence from the children, and then, a garrison---an older one---speaks up and explains the rest to him.

They retrieve Feliciano Vargas with no casualty in their hands, the military’s so-called “humanity’s last hope”. A titan-shifter, the first in their records after the colossal and armoured titan.

He knows that face, of course. Remembered it. From one of the two brats who gazed at his commanding officer with such hate and longing. To see that soft face morph into something like rage—harder than his late brother’s---it strikes Arthur with how much a war can change people. Or reality of life itself. He briefly wonders how Julius Vargas would feel knowing that his remaining grandson is now a titan---humanity’s enemy and hope to some.

Amongst the commotion from the survivors and his fellows, as he sipped his tea, one thought stuck to his head: _the wings of freedom._

The words etched on his skin.

He was sure he had heard it from one of the brats back at the newly-sealed entrance of Trost.

 

                With the fuss between Feliciano Vargas’ trial and the period he was supposed to be kept hidden in the Survey Corps’ custody until the formal ceremonies of the three military factions’ applications, Arthur had a hard time seeking out the brat.

All he knew was that it was definitely one of the kids in the titan-shifter’s group but other than that, nothing. Any one of them could have spoken and it wasn’t like he could just grab every fresh graduate’s wrist and check what the strings of words say.

Turns out, to see another person’s soul mate tattoo in the surface is forbidden. Of course, there is also an unspoken rule about doing the same in the underground, but it was more like a common knowledge of sorts, since it was another way of showing one’s weakness. In the surface though, there is an actual law that states that no one shall see another’s soul mate tattoo unless they were their destined one, or they allow it.

And even if Arthur manages to get away with it, with all the graduates, he doubts he can get himself to waste such precious time just to check each one. The current number of fresh graduates this year (excluding those who had died in action back in the battle of Trost) were about five hundred.

He doesn’t doubt that their recruits would barely go up to twenty, knowing their reputation. It doesn’t help the fact that these graduates had seen and fought titans face to face, they wouldn’t want to jump that hole again.

So when the acceptance ceremony for the Survey Corps had begun, Arthur had already prepared himself to let go.

He doesn’t even know what he will do if he ever met them, anyway.

He’s not sure himself why he suddenly had the urge to meet them.

Was it curiosity?

Yes.

There were moments when the thought occurs to him, that what if it was true? This…love at first sight his mother used to tell him as a child?

He just wanted to know, perhaps.

 

               With Commander Vargas’ proposition, the titan-shifter Feliciano Vargas falls under the custody of the Survey Corps.

Specifically, under Arthur’s care, being humanity’s strongest soldier and all. Something about him being able to kill the kid if things comes to worst, Arthur being so good at titan slaying. It was not like he was bragging, mind you. It was just the truth.

It earned him four years to get the rest of the company’s respect, that or those who had known of his true origins had long since died in the past expeditions, Arthur out-living them all.

Guardianship, his comrades would tell him to make the duty feel less heavy. To “lessen the pressure on him” they said.

Arthur wanted to call it more like “baby-sitting”.

Keep vigilant watch on the kid day and night, and make sure to keep him chained before he sleeps. To be honest, when Arthur started on the duty in his first night, the whole routine had reminded him of caring for a dog.

But it was the higher ups’ condition if they wanted the kid, so they don’t really have much of choice in the matter. All he could do at that time whenever the titan kid gives him a look resembling that of a lost puppy is to shrug and say, “It was an order.”

It wasn’t like he was lying.

In fact, Arthur had always hated lying. He hate liars.

They’re worse than shit-lickers.

 

                In his years as a soldier, as well as running blindly after Vargas’ orders, Arthur was the last person who could never expect bizarre outcomes out of simple bets the commander does. Arthur had long since known that Vargas chose this kind of path for the sake of humanity, like losing contact with his remaining family after the fall of the wall Maria. The hurt the boy must’ve felt when he realised after spending weeks waiting blindly for his grandfather to claim him was never going to come.

Arthur couldn’t blame the boy then, when the first time he sees the man again, in the flesh after five or so years was that of indifference and barely concealed anger.

Somehow, he thinks he can understand the boy, being a victim of Vargas’ bets with destiny.

But all is in the past now, and he has long accepted that such things just happen. There is no choice that would not yield unpleasant outcomes. All one can do, in the end, was choose what they will regret less.

And at that time, Arthur chose wrong. It taught him a valuable lesson, and it was his reason to keep going, to put all of his faith in Vargas and his leadership and ideals, just to do what he failed to do for Salvatore.

But again, they are only humans, and fate is another thing entirely.

A simple running mission to train new recruits was a mere decoy.

Vargas’ true intention for this expedition was to smoke out the traitor, and smoke out he did.

They managed to trap the titan---a suspected titan-shifter that had been long hiding in the ranks, waiting until it was time again to attack and completely annihilate humanity. The revelation of Feliciano Vargas’ nature, as Vargas deducted was “not part of their plan”, and therefore, he tells Arthur and the rest of his trusted comrades, the spies had to reveal themselves.

And this is the only chance they have to capture them.

What they did not expect was, for the titan to shriek, attracting every titan in the area that can hear his desperate cries. It was just like as the witnesses from the battle of Trost had said that the titans seek the shifter and devour them like they would any human. It just confirms Vargas’ theory.

Everyone present was left staring, dumbfounded at the sight of titans hurrying to devour every bit of the captured shifter’s flesh.

Vargas had a moment to mutter to himself, “He’d rather be killed than be revealed,” and then Vargas pales and he barks out an order.

“Top priority! Protect that titan! We can’t lose that information!”

But the titans were just too many, and despite the kills, leaving them all exhausted, the titan was gone.

What of its remains evaporated into steam.

Their information gone, their casualty high, and resources wasted.

All for nothing.

 

                “Your _own_ squad died! Don’t you even feel a thing?”

Vargas---the titan shifter---screams at him, steam rising from his healing injuries. They were all over his body, mostly at his limbs, leaving him vulnerable and defenceless once the suspected titan-shifter retrieved his body from his own dissolving titan carcass. Arthur had his back to him but he knows that Feliciano Vargas remained still in his place in the ground---sprawled with his fists tightly clenched as they pound on the surface, angry tears staining his face along with dried blood.

The boy was distressed, that he can see clearly. If there was something Arthur had learned in his years in the military, it was this: grief was a human trait. Everyone grieves. To do so is to be human.

Feliciano Vargas is not the monster everyone has made him to be.

Regardless of it all, the dead will remain dead. No matter what Arthur will do or say now will not magically bring them back to life. This is something Vargas had to learn early on or else he’ll be useless in the long run.

“You’re right,” Arthur hears himself say. It leaves the younger soldier speechless, his breath hitching; surprised that the Captain is actually paying attention. “But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?” At this, he turns to face him, look at the boy in the eye to properly stare him down. He’s actually impressed that the boy did not flinch at his piercing gaze.

“Let’s say _I_ actually felt _something_ , right now. Let’s say, I mourned for their deaths because like you said, they’re my squad.” He steps closer towards Vargas, sees the boy’s face start morphing into that of caution as he gets nearer, getting ready for a physical assault, probably. He must’ve terrified the boy to the point of shitting himself back at the court, no matter how long ago that had been.

He goes down on one knee, levelling his eyes with Vargas’. “Then what?”

Vargas blinks, finds himself confused and unsure about what the Captain asks of him. He blinks again, and then turns his eyes to the ground, the Captain’s eyes too painful to maintain contact with. Then, after muttering the words his superior had just said, he turns his eyes back to Arthur’s, a pair of amber, glowing like hot flames underneath the glare of the sunset behind them, hard with the usual conviction he carries with the corners his eyes crinkling with the confusion over the question.

Arthur repeats patiently, his voice hard and as resolute as before, “Do you think my mourning will do anything?” Vargas’ brows scrunch and his expression hardens like before once again, mouth opening to retort something like a “yes” it seems but Arthur quickly cuts him off before he does so, because he doesn’t really have the patience for stupid children who thinks being sincere is enough to win a century-old war.

“Do you think me mourning for their deaths will rid this world of the titans?” At this, Arthur finally gets the expression he wants. Vargas’ expression falls, his mouth hanging open but no answer is coming out. No sign of protests, telling Arthur that he is wrong. “Do you think me mourning them will bring them back to life?”

Vargas’ finally finds the decency to close his mouth, lest flies start entering and turns his head down, his shoulders sagging and the fists his hands makes are relaxing, their knuckles no longer white as a sheet. Arthur grabs his chin, forces his face to look at him, to look at him in the eye, “Tell me, _Vargas_ \---“ Arthur hears himself hiss out his name, “---what would it do?”

At this, the private’s eyes widen, tears dripping out of them involuntarily at the action. Arthur can hear him take a deep, ragged breathe of air from this distance, feel his entire body shake as if he’s sobbing. His eyes, huge and wide, turn away from him again blinking away the tears, letting them fall once again without inhibition.

When Arthur refused to let go of his face, he returns his eyes back on him. Wet with tears and voice raspy, Arthur, as well as the rest of the faction present, hears him shout, “Nothing, sir!”

“My point exactly,” He finally lets go, shoving Vargas’ face into the ground, leaving the boy to crouch, curl in on himself as he sobs silently. In the corner of Arthur’s eyes, he can see Vargas’ friends fidget in their places; see the desperate looks on their faces, all worried and sympathetic. They wanted to come and comfort Vargas but unsure of how their captain would react in doing so.

He stands up, absently dusting his pants. “If we wanted to show that we really cared, if _at all_ , then we must move forward,” He turns to the rest of the corps

“So that their efforts will not be wasted.”

 

                “Captain!”

It was nightfall by the time they managed to return to their base back at the walls. They had just finished discussing matters regarding the expedition and the next best course of action now that the Commander’s plan turned out unsuccessful. There were already rumours about the higher-ups demanding a report from the Commander himself regarding his unmet conditions in exchange for the survey corps keeping the titan-shifter in their custody.

Arthur along with his fellow squad leaders were just on their way back to their quarters after a tiring day when one of the brats from Vargas (the titan-shifter’s) graduating class came running to him, his fist closed over his heart to pay his superior officer respect.

Confused, Arthur raises a hand to tell the soldier to be at ease as well as giving him permission to speak. A part of his mind was wondering if maybe that Vargas kid did something again that they needed Arthur to intervene.

The soldier relaxes, his hands coming down to rest on his sides, his eyes looking at him strangely in a way that made Arthur uncomfortable in his own skin. It wasn’t a look he gets everyday from people who are supposed to be intimidated by him.

“I, I just,” He starts, a hand raising in a way that tells Arthur he’s not here to report anything that has something to do with their ranks.

“What you said earlier, Captain. I don’t think you were really the type who will lead his people to their deaths. I understand why you had to do what you did. You don’t really have to justify yourself for it.” He says, voice shaking from nerves, his eyes a dark shade of blue---the very colour that Arthur used to imagine how the ocean would look like if he were to peer at its depths.

It leaves him breathless, stuck in a stasis. Those eyes are pulling him in.

Then like a candle with its fire blown, the soldier’s entire body tenses as he takes a step back, his face reddening due to embarrassment, perhaps, and runs away, back to his team, probably.

Arthur finds himself stuck in his place, his feet buried to the earth, until someone from his colleagues says “Someone’s got a fan,” their voice teasing as they nudge him too hard that he falls to the ground.

 

                It doesn’t take Arthur that long to know that the soldier who confronted him the night after Vargas’ (the titan-shifter) outburst is Alfred Jones. He graduated among the top ten in his graduating class, Feliciano Vargas’ batchmate. The boy seemed taken to him, greeting him at any moment he could to the point that the boy’s voice that would speak in his head would always be saying “Captain!”.

For all the years that Arthur could remember, ever since he was a little boy who managed to survive in the underground after his mentor left him for good, he never had anyone else he got to call a friend. Or someone to confide in, without the fear of getting judged or have that moment of vulnerability is used against him. Except maybe for Salvatore, but that was another story, entirely.

The wounds were still fresh, as they say it.

Ever since the survey corps were “disbanded” with Arthur and the rest of his squad labelled as criminals, they spent their days hidden in a cabin in the woods, by the outermost walls of Rose where there are less people to find them, playing house and baby-sitting a bunch of snot-nosed brats.

From titan-killing to caring for _children_ , it made Arthur more irritable than usual, it doesn’t help either that what little of his supply of tea---his only remedy to cooling his heated nerves---is starting to go dry in a matter of days. Lately though, he finds himself leaving their safe house only to return a couple of days later, looking for information and seeking connections that will bring them a lead to whatever is going on with the walls, the royal family, and the titans.

It was during that time—when they were in hiding---that Arthur had the chance to learn about Alfred Jones, not just as Feliciano Vargas’ friend and comrade, not just as another soldier, and not just as another child he had to babysit but as a person, who has feelings, thoughts, and emotion.

Who has ideals.

He wasn’t sure by now on how it happened, with all the things happening back then making their days feel so short, with time running too fast for them to catch up to. But at some point Arthur remembers Alfred telling him things---some little, some not so much---about his dreams and ideals. About getting their well-deserved freedom.

“One day, no matter how long it will take, we’ll get out of these walls and see the world for ourselves.” Arthur had wondered on multiple occasions about what could Jones had seen as a child---be it at the hands of the titans when they broke through Wall Maria or at the hands of the humans themselves (as there are no monster that could be worse than titans but the humans themselves) for him to think like that. To speak like an adult, to say things as if he had seen and felt them himself and thus can give better output for a better outcome.

Sometimes he spoke words that no sixteen-year old could ever think about.

 

           “Feliciano lost his brother and his soulmate to the titans,” The boy once mentioned.

Arthur was in-charge of guard duty tonight, so he was outside, his mantle wrapped around himself to keep the cold at bay. He wasn’t holding a lantern, knowing that it would make their hiding place easier to be found, if there were intruders to come in the area, looking for their whereabouts.

The boy had decided to join him, carrying two cups of something warm---Tea for Arthur and some leftover soup for himself. He knows better than to make a cup of his Captain’s tea for himself.

When he started talking about Feliciano’s drive to help humanity and eradicate the titans, Arthur gave the other a questioning look over his steaming cup of tea. _What are you trying to say?_

At this, the boy just stares back at him for a few moments, seeking for anything in his face. Like maybe an answer to Arthur’s question. Then he replies, his tone consciously maintained to be low, to remain hidden and unseen in their post.

“ _Soulmates_ …what is the point of having those marks if at some point, there is a chance that you will be separated too soon?” The youth asks---more like to himself, his free arm coming up to clutch at his own wrist, where his soulmate mark is supposed to be located. Arthur notices how he’s gripping them hard, his cup shaking in his hold.

Arthur lets himself drown in a moment of silence with the animals shuffling in some areas around them, either running from prey or preying themselves before speaking.

“Being separated…I think it was better that way.” Arthur hears himself say over his cup, eyes focused on the boy in front of him, whose eyes were wide and bright as they stare back at Arthur. Indicating that he was listening and hanging on to his officer’s every word.

Then he frowns, hand gripping at his arm tighter, the fabric of his jacket squeaking at the pressure.

“That’s…”

“In this kind of world we live in, soul mates can only be truly happy if they were the rich and the privileged, don’t you think?” Arthur pauses, turning his head to gaze up at the night sky, clear of clouds and littered with bright stars, twinkling down at them without a care. Wouldn’t it be nice to be a fucking star right now.

The silence was drowned by the crickets in the background, some animals skirting around their feet, the both of them mindful of any venomous snakes that might happen to crawl nearby.

When the boy doesn’t seem to be in any shape or form to answer or remark at Arthur’s opinion, he inhales through his nose, breathing in the sweet essence of tea from his cup as he does so.

“Then again, with money being their main problem, they had to ignore those too and get married for the sake of keeping their fucking hides, don’t they?” Deep sigh.

Alfred remained silent by his side, eyes now turned at the ground below him, his expression that of deep thought. Arthur idly thinks that maybe the boy had stopped paying this old man any mind when he started spouting the “soul mates are too cliché” discourse.

Everyone seemed to hate him when he speaks like that after all.

He was on the verge of deciding whether or not it will be treason to leave his post right now and call it a night, half-heartedly hope that the kid wouldn’t rat him out for slacking and that no one will chose this fucking time to actually find their hideout and attack and have the kid be killed. Because then that would be just a pain.

And childish, if he thought about it. “The humanity’s strongest” putting their safety in jeopardy just because he couldn’t handle awkward silences.

“I…” Arthur looks up, realising that he had started to look down on the ground as well, sees Alfred ‘s eyes back on him once again, eyes squinting in apparent confusion as both of his hands now are clutching at his cup of soup.

“I, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Sir.” He finally manages to choke out.

Arthur’s brows raise then he thinks. What was hard to understand?

Regardless, he speaks up. Fuck it all, his mind says. He’ll deal with the awkward later.

“Would you rather have loved and lost than had never loved at all?” This was probably the first time he had ever said this opinion aloud before since everyone had stopped listening the moment he says it was for the better, to be separated in the end.

As for Alfred, Arthur wasn’t sure exactly if he got the desired reaction or what. His eyes were wide and his skin is paler than usual. He seemed to shake from the cold in his spot as he stares at Arthur with a slightly gaping mouth.

Instead of getting offended, Arthur frowns in concern. “Hey, you feeling alright?” At which he was immediately replied with a violent shake of the boy’s head. He shook it so fast that Arthur thought his head would’ve fallen right off his shoulders.

But it didn’t, of course.

Arthur sighs through his teeth this time, muttering “brats” under his breath and proceeds to take large gulps of tea until he’s tipping the cup empty. Then he hands it back to Alfred, clicking his tongue. “Go back inside and get some sleep, Jones.”

“B-but Sir---“

“No buts. Go to sleep. Kids like you need those, right?” He crosses his arms, his usual scowl back on his face as he looks at the boy up and down then adds, “To grow or something.”

“Then Captain Arthur needs some sleep too.”

“Get the fuck inside.”

 

        Turns out, Arthur’s flawless strategy wasn’t so flawless after all.

He finds himself in the brink of being cornered, his enemies not afraid to reveal themselves to the people below, shooting their 3D manoeuvre gears into brick walls and aiming their weapons at Arthur’s head. Their bullets are eager to bury themselves into his skull and paint the walls with his brain.

Yes. _Bullets_.

They were all using 3D manoeuvre gears but instead of his bulky one due to the blade containers and being used exclusively for close combat, they have guns. He heard them call it anti-human manoeuvring gears and as he makes a quick turn at a corner of a building, scaling up the wall with his feet for a few seconds to gain momentum before cutting one of his pursuers’ head clean in half, he realises how accurate that name was.

It was a weapon made specially to kill humans instead of titans.

The military police weren’t as useless as they make them seem to be.

Despite his enemy’s obvious advantage at long-range combat, Arthur did not find it much of a challenge to bail and cut down those who got too close.

That is, until _he_ appeared, almost shooting his head off.

Arthur barely had a moment to look as he manages to push his elbows into the nearby wall to move himself quickly away from the shot, slamming his head to the brick and dislocating his left arm, bone slightly jutting out of his arm due to the force he had to put on it when he dodged that bullet.

“Good to see you again, my little runt.” Were the words enough for Arthur to hear to validate who it was that he just saw.

It was ironic; to know that the very man he had known to had hated the military police with all his being was the same man who is now leading them.

It was Alistair.

Never before had Arthur felt genuine fear wrack his bones, his head filling with panic not with facing a titan but facing the same man who had taught him everything he knows.

If there was anyone who could kill humanity’s strongest, that would be Alistair.

Arthur, knowing it fully well, throws his mission to the fucking air and bails.

He had to run away. The mission can come later.

After all, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it if he’s dead.

Alistair seemed to have seen Arthur’s course of action as a challenge, smiling wide with all teeth as he laughs and orders what remains of his men to follow. Arthur had to look back, of course, to see if anyone has aimed at his head and saw Alistair’s face---older than he had remembered but still quite menacing. More so now that it was aimed directly at him, eyes glowing with bloodlust for Arthur’s blood.

He manages to cut into the neck of an attacker, leaving their bodies hanging limp as they smack noisily against the hard brick walls. No one seemed to care except for the people present below, gasping and pointing at the sight above them, blurry figures in 3D manoeuvre gears dashing past with incredible speed.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to kill off the rest of Alistair’s men, the only one left chasing him was the man himself, still laughing and talking about being proud of what he’s made, gun pointed steadily at Arthur’s bloody form, in the brink of getting destroyed but fuck if Arthur wouldn’t fight his hardest to survive. It’s all in his veins, pumped in his blood. The thrill of survival.

Then his leg slips on a building’s tiled roof, a bullet grazing his bad shoulder and he slumps, head-first into the roof and it collapses from his weight and he crashes down.

It’s a pub.

People inside started screaming, the bartender a few steps away from actually getting crushed by the debris Arthur had brought down with him was trembling. Despite it all, he had still had the gall to approach Arthur’s crumpled form, pain has his body in a wreck that it made grunt.

Arthur’s eyes blink wearily at the hole in the ceiling, his ears not quite listening at the bartender’s worried mumbles. Asking him if he was alright but was too afraid still to approach closer and actually help him up or something. Arthur doesn’t blame him, not really.

No man would have been able to survive the state Arthur’s in right now, anyway.

Arthur blames his crazy tolerance to pain.

Silently, he moves his good hand—the functioning one---and tests if it still has a use. When he sees his fingers twitch, he deems himself good enough and makes a motion to stand. Or sit up, because his body is still recovering from the fall.

Then the doors to the pub slam open and Alistair’s voice booms throughout the building.

“I am a military policeman! Nobody move!”

His announcement doesn’t calm the patrons in the least, with what he’s wearing and the strange version of 3D manoeuvre gear on his person making it hard for the people to believe him.

Some women gasp and some men move away, dragging their women closer to themselves and farther from Alistair.

Upon hearing Alistair’s voice, Arthur’s body was quick to react. He jumps right behind the counter and makes signals with the bartender whose eyes immediately darted towards a shotgun resting a not far from where Arthur hides.

“Don’t make me laugh!” Arthur shouts behind him as he shuffles closer towards the weapon.

“You and I both know how you hate the military police, Alistair!” He adds, carefully taking the gun into his hands, inspecting the barrels and giving the trembling bartender another questioning glance. The man glances forward at first, looking at Alistair if he’s got the man’s attention, Arthur supposes before the bartender’s foot points at the shelf behind Arthur. He glances behind him and notices a small white box. The bullets.

From behind the counter, Alistair laughs, guns raised as his eyes look around behind the counter, trying to locate Arthur’s location through his voice.

“Things change, Son.”

His eyes glow. “When did you become a fucking hero of _humanity_ , anyway?”

The bartender jumps, screaming when Alistair suddenly rains bullets on a spot behind the counter. When he’s over, he steps closer, only to be surprised to see Arthur jumping out of that exact same spot, bloodier and dirtier than he had last seen the runt but alive, a gun pointed at him.

“Didn’t you hear the news? I’m a wanted criminal now.” Arthur says. Then he clicks the trigger that sends Alistair flying across the building. He knows it won’t kill the old bastard but it would be enough to buy him time to escape and not be followed.

 

                His body was still aching in places but at least his elbow was finally fixed and alright, back in its rightful place. He had multiple cuts and holes all over his body and it took Honda a while to extract all the bullets and sew the holes and cuts shut.

He was told that he was lucky that none of the bullets hit anything important or else they’ll be in trouble.

“Captain!” Alfred exclaims as he enters the barn, gun hoisted on his back and cloak wrapped tightly around him. It’s obvious that he’s just came from a long shift of lookout when he nods at another of their comrades and they leave with a gun.

Alfred was quick to approach him, eyes peering down at what’s exposed of Arthur’s body, littered with scars, old and new.

“Wh, where’s Feliciano?” He asks.

Arthur frowns before setting his expression into nothing before he slowly shakes his head.

That sets a saddened look from the boy. He looks down for a minute, Honda peering at him in worry as he continues to stitch. It takes a while, Alfred breathing in and out slowly before looking up to meet Arthur’s eyes---dark, dull, and tired---before he releases a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t good enough.” He says, his eyes squinting as they glow in the dim room with an expression Arthur can only explain as remorse.

“No one expected that to happen.” Arthur replies, to placate.

It was true, no one was expecting the attack, much less the weapons the military police suddenly brought out to use to get rid of them.

Now, Alfred was forced to kill a human being to protect their comrades.

It’s a heavy burden for someone who had done nothing but fight for humanity.

The mission to retrieve Feliciano Vargas from the military police’s illegal custody may be a failure, but one thing was for sure: if they were this desperate to eliminate them in the game that they had to reveal their big guns---figuratively speaking, of course---then that means they are getting closer.

Closer to the truth and unveiling it all.

 

                “I’m sure of it, that’s that interior brigade compound.” Arthur mutters as he slowly pulls at the tall grass to get a better look at the compound, looking for less guarded spots. It wasn’t hard for Arthur to see in the dark, having spent the rest of his waking life in the underground where the usual was the dark.

They were all right outside the compound, hiding amongst the tall grass, waiting for the right moment to attack.

“I can’t believe we’re already here,” Alfred shakily breathes out, hands gripping his blades tight. The rest of the squad seems to agree, nodding in silence as they adjust in their positions to better improve their landing once they launch.

 “It’s all thanks to you Alfred,” someone says.

When Arthur thinks the night was deep enough, its people inside all at rest and unaware, he announces “Let’s go,” as he moves to stand up.

“This time, we strike first,” He adds, voice firm as he grips his blades between his hands tight and his men follow suit behind him.

They strike.

 

                “Everyone made it out,” Honda reports after he had finished with the head count.

The rest of the squad releases a relieved sigh as Arthur nods in acknowledgement, dragging a heavy load behind him. It groans as the rope gets pulled tighter against its body and its noises makes Arthur’s blood boil in disgust.

_Fucking pigs._

“He wasn’t there, though.” Arthur remarks finally, disappointed yet his voice remained neutral. He pulls at the ropes tighter and their captive groans again. He raises his dirtied head to glare at Arthur who doesn’t flinch nor react.

Arthur takes to the challenge, giving him a dark look of his own, unafraid.  “We’re leaving.”

 

                When they were far enough, he pushes the military police officer into an old tree, made sure to slam his face into the trunk’s rough surface.

“Nice moustache we got there,” He coldly remarks, an attempt to belittle a captive. In truth, that moustache is ridiculous. Ugly. It makes the military police look stupider than normal.

On why men sometimes prefer to keep stupidly styled facial hair, Arthur may never know.

“Where is Feliciano?” He asks right after, direct to the point. They don’t have time to waste on idle talk.

The military policeman slowly tries to sit up and rest his back on the tree, trying to find a comfortable position. Arthur lets him, _let the scum thinks he can get away with shit_ , he thinks. When the other has finished, he was left panting. He looks at Arthur square in the face, his face dirtied and bloodied with all the rough treatment Arthur had done on their way and he croaks out, “Did you kill my men?”

“Unfortunately for you,” Arthur begins, “they won’t be coming to your rescue.” Literally.

“Killing them would have been a bother,” He elaborates, eyes focused on the man below him, still panting, trying to regain his breath. He’s going to need it, Arthur supposes.

“…So they’ll just be off their feet for the time being.”

Arthur’s last words made the military policeman look at him with confusion.

“Literally.” He answers.

Arthur made a strict order on his squad to leave every person in the compound out of commission but not dead. To make sure they won’t have any strength or ability to give chase once they started to flee. The only viable solution he had come up with was to, of course, take their ability to walk and run.

They attacked their legs but not to the extent that it would no longer be recovered.

Arthur isn’t that cruel.

Usually, anyway.

“The interior MPs will be out of action for a while.” Arthur comments, making the man below him scoff.

“Brave, aren’t we?” He starts.

“You think you’re something special? You think cutting down a bunch of unarmed MPs makes you a hero?”

An attempt at guilt. Too bad Arthur had enough years in his belt for practice in dropping that certain emotion. He had lived in the underground, after all, where survival depends on who is the strongest of the strong. There is a reason he managed to live this long, after all.

“I think you should know,” the military policeman continues without inhibition, unaware of how it has Arthur unaffected and unimpressed.

“Some of the men and women in there were just _servants_ ,” Then he darts his attention from Arthur to his squad, all young and unused to this kind of method. It makes the children shoot nervous glances at each other, traces of guilt evident on their faces, clouded by the desperation of survival and victory.

It was one thing to lose a comrade in the middle of war against the titans and it was another to hurt an innocent _human being_ for the sake of winning a war amongst themselves. Arthur once remembered mentioning an old tale to the brats one time, how the world before the emergence of the titans, humans used to be at war with each other, fighting over skin colours and the like.

Feliciano had gawked at the thought; called Arthur’s stories nothing but lies and make-believe. He reasoned that why would humans fight over something so small and insignificant? In the end, they’re all humans, aren’t they? They’re supposed to be fighting together against a common enemy, like the titans.

It made the rest of the brats silent, thinking amongst themselves. Arthur never bothered to correct the boy, about how that concept actually exists in their time, how he had been in it himself and fought in it. Matthew can only look at the silent recruits at that time, smiling as he remarks how bright Feliciano’s input had been.

For some reason, he and Williams had both thought the same thing: regardless of war and death, these are still children. They deserve to keep even a tiny speck of innocence in them. For the sake of the future once they _do_ manage to rid the world of the titans and finally bring humanity their well-deserved freedom.

“…but you cut them all down with no mercy or remorse.” The military policeman finishes.

“I see,” Arthur slowly says, drawling. He does not nod or shake his head in acknowledgement, his answer sarcastic at best and patronising at worst.

“What a horrible thing we’ve done.”

In a flash, the back of the military policeman’s head meet the tree behind him as Arthur’s foot smashes into his mouth, the front of his filthy shoes fitting so well inside. He slams his foot with a force enough to break the man’s teeth in.

As the other whimpers, muffled and shocked, hands grappling at what’s left of his foot jammed into his mouth, Arthur continues, “I feel awful for all of you, too.”

 “And I feel especially bad about your mouth.” He pushes his foot further into the military policeman’s mouth, harder and harsher, blood trickling down his chin.

“I’d suggest using it while you’re still able to speak. Where is Feliciano?”

Arthur makes a point with his threat as he presses harder until the man makes a louder noise, hands grappling more desperately to pull Arthur’s foot off. He seems more subdued now.

Hopefully, he’ll put that filthy mouth to better use.

Finally, he decides to release his foot, a couple of teeth—white and yellowing---sprinkles to the ground below along with splats of blood as the military policeman sputters and coughs. Arthur looks on impassively, impatient while the rest of his squad couldn’t take their eyes away, never saw this kind of cruelty before. There’s guilt and also the conviction that they are doing what they have to for the better good. They trust their captain as much as how their captain has (blind) trust of their commander.

“---useless!” He coughs out, fingers shaking as it runs delicately on his bloodied jaw. Arthur thinks he must’ve damaged the jaw as well but couldn’t bring himself to care when the bastard can still use it to speak shit.

“It’s useless! No matter what you try to do, the only option the Survey Corps has left is to stay on the run inside the walls!” He shouts, blood splattering, tainting Arthur’s dark pants with filthy, filthy, pig blood. He wanted to hit the bastard again, make sure to keep him on track.

But he stops himself last minute, lets the other run around like a stupid headless chicken. Idiots are amusing too, after all. It makes it easier for him to break their morale.

“You’re nothing more than a pack of filthy rats now! You’ll be lucky just to survive!”

“You’ve even abandoned your comrades! If you don’t surrender, the captured soldiers are all going to be hanged! Why shouldn’t they be? Considering what you’ve done, who’s going to object?” _Ah_ , Arthur remembers: the titan attack at Stohess.

To be fair, it wasn’t them who turned deaf ears to their commander when the man said a titan is hiding amongst their ranks. The casualty was merely a collateral for their upcoming victory.

“…and the man on the gallows first will be the man most responsible for all of this: your leader, Julius Vargas.”

Then silently but resolutely, he says, “Of course, if you admit to acting on your own and give yourselves to up, the lives of your innocent comrades could be spared, at least.”

Silence engulfs them all, tense and fragile. Arthur remains numb to it all, unfeeling.

“Understand, Arthur?” The silence gives the military policeman some confidence, standing on his own as he wipes the blood off his mouth. “That’s the only option you had left.”

He sets his hands on the captain’s shoulders, sympathetic. “Use your lives to save theirs, that’s it. I’ll speak on your behalf; it’ll go better that way.”

“I’ll pass,” Arthur replies in a matter of seconds, catching the military policeman off-guard.

“You just tell me where Feliciano is.”

The military policeman inhales, tongue lightly touching his gum where a tooth has recently fallen from. He breathes out, “Huh.”

“So you’re going to watch your comrades be killed just to live a few days longer? What a,” he pauses, trying to look for a perfect word, “… _strong bond_ you have with each other.”

“Well,” Arthur begins, barely turning his head, barely moving at all---a sign of confidence in his own strength that he knows makes the military policeman still fearful and wary of his capabilities.

“Some Survey Corps’ lives are worth more than others.” Like Feliciano Vargas’, for example. He supposes he’s had enough of this animal’s stupid blabbering. Finally, he moves.

It takes the military policeman off-guard, definitely, when Arthur suddenly had him facing the tree behind him in a blink of an eye, hands twisted on his back, being squeezed tightly. “Only those dumb enough to agree to _that_ join us.”

“Anyway, I doubt the crown would spare the others and throw away this perfect opportunity to exterminate the Survey Corps.” He’s uneducated, not stupid. He knows how politics work.

“This is for not answering my question, by the way.” He snaps an arm, twists it at an impossible angle until he hears something brittle crack, its noise masked by the screech that follow right after. He lets go, watches how the military policeman crumples to the ground, screaming, wailing, and crying. It’s pathetic, really.

“Shut up and tell me where Feliciano is.”

“I, I don’t know! They barely tell us anything! I swear!” If Arthur had known that one broken arm is all it takes to make this scum talk, then he would’ve done it earlier and spared them all the drama.

“Alistair Kirkland is extremely tight-lipped!” That gives Arthur a start.

He makes sure to keep his expression cool, that nothing will seep out to make it obvious to the other that he’s wholly and truly affected.

“Alistair Kirkland? That’s the old bastard’s last name?”

It takes the military policeman aback as well, his feet giving up on him and he falls completely on the ground, eyes looking up at Arthur in surprise and confusion, his eyes squinting and his tears breaking in to a pause.

“Yes, why?”

Arthur can feel the curious eyes of his squad trained on the both of them, on him as he silently mulls to himself, “I suppose _he_ doesn’t give out many details. Most especially the important ones.”

He thinks for a moment before returning his attention back to the matter at hand. He addresses the military policeman below, “but you must have an inkling of some sort, don’t you? Maybe I can jog your memory,” and he began to approach slowly.

It makes the other tremble, sweat drop down his face and tears prickle his eyes.

“Stop!” he squeals.

“You still have plenty of bones left.” Arthur reasons. More bones means more information to milk out, after all. He’s silently grateful Williams wasn’t here to fuck it all up. He’s still pissed at Williams’ sloppy work before, how he left the little room filthy, his apologies loud and annoying as he pulls clumsily at the nails of an old captive. _I’m sorry for tearing your skin, I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m new at this torture thing, you see? Here are your nails,_ as he pulls out a clean handkerchief, the nails all broken and bloody but neatly placed in an orderly line, _I hope you like how I put them together._

The military policeman below him has no idea of his thoughts, eyes peering up at him, silently begging for mercy as tears start to flow freely and inhibited down his face.

“You,” he whimpers, voice breaking, “you’re crazy…”

“Maybe.”

 

                Williams arrives a few hours later with news that brought Arthur’s squad to tears, laughing and hugging each other as Arthur reads aloud a tabloid about the reveal of the biggest dirt yet to smudge the ugly reputation of the military police’s immoral deeds and at the same time, clearing the scouting legion of their crimes.

They are free now, free to move and be seen. They are criminals no longer.

Suddenly, Julius Vargas’ plan to smoke out the rats amongst the nobles worked, turning the rest of the military to the crown itself, over-throwing the rich and the corrupt.

Then Williams adds, excitement evident in his veins as he holds out a paper to Arthur, he says, “I think I just found us a location. Feliciano could be there.”

Arthur looks silently at Williams, a frown making its way to his face. For some reason, he had a bad feeling about this.

 

                This time, they came in prepared.

The result of their preparation was the military police in their anti-human manoeuvring gears useless as their bodies were thrown into the walls and skilfully sliced apart. They have no time for remorse, not when they’re apparently running out of time.

The battle was fierce and it caused on hell of a casualty on both sides but at least they won. Williams had the most damage, his arm left useless for the time being and had to be left so they could go forward.

“But squad leader---!”

“Feliciano is more important than me!”

None of them objected; their minds all set on the goal.

Retrieve Feliciano Vargas from the true royals that were trying to retrieve what was originally theirs---the titan powers, the power of the first king.

If they let even one second slip through, they might just lose their only hope in winning against the titans. For good.

They arrive just in time as well, setting Feliciano free from his binds, the boy a sobbing mess, screaming about letting him be killed. It was his fault, his fault, his fault—

Arthur thinks it’s wise to smack his across the face, slap the sudden needless guilt off the boy’s head literally. It works, calming the boy down. His sobs mellow into sniffs and he looks down on the ground, face drenched in blood from the long cut on his forehead, given by Alistair himself to urge the boy to transform into a titan. Hoping for a titan-versus-titan fight, it seems but failed when he realised too late that the boy doesn’t have any motivation left to fight back.

He’s all skin and bones now, his developed muscles from intense training all seemed like a past now as Arthur observes Feliciano, his ribs and spine jutting out like blades underneath his skin. He wonders what Feliciano’s captors had done to break a will as strong as Feliciano Vargas’.

He couldn’t help but pity the boy, because titan or not, Feliciano Vargas is, first and foremost, a child. None of this was his fault to begin with when the adults are to blame. He’s merely a pawn in a long-term battle strategy that has be sacrificed.

Slowly, he approaches, rests his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looks at him with eyes earnest and sad, tears blending with the blood on his cheeks. They drop when he blinks, lashes heavy with tears and suddenly, he’s throwing himself on Arthur, arms wrapped around his caretaker like how a child would with their mother.

He sniffles into Arthur’s chest, his white shirt getting stained with fresh blood as his vision gets clouded with steam, the wound on Feliciano’s head starting to heal at inhuman speed. Arthur accepts the boy into his arms with no hesitation, hand running down his back, cold and bony.

Then, right below, something explodes. They all watch, their bodies stuck on their positions, unable to move as a titan emerges out of the white gust of hot steam. It kept on growing at an alarming rate, it’s body expanding at an alarming rate and doesn’t stop even though it already reaches the high ceilings, its body expanding still until the ceiling gives and larges debris of rocks fall.

They all move then, looking for any exit.

To no avail.

“Captain! We can’t use our gears to get us out of here!” Then their eyes stray towards Feliciano, eyes wide as he looks at them back.

“We need your help, Feliciano!” They say. It startles the titan shifter out of his daze, eyes widening and focusing on the collapsing enclosure. Then his face breaks, into something akin to devastation.

“I,” He starts, voice breaking.

Arthur pulls the boy out of his reverie, his hand back on the shifter’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for always putting you in this situation, Feliciano.” He tells the boy sincerely, his brows scrunched in concern.

“This time, I’ll let you do what you want.” Feliciano looks at him, eyes wide like this was yet another rarity for Feliciano to see his caretaker, his superior, to look so strong and kind and calm in such a crisis. Their lives are at risk and Arthur deems it smart to let him know that despite it all, Feliciano still has the choice for himself.

Looking around the shaking ground, his hand darts toward a small bottle filled with clear fluid.

He sniffs, free hand crudely wiping the tears and blood off his face. “I’m so sorry, everyone.”

“Please, for the last time, have faith in me.”

He throws the bottle into his mouth as it snaps closed, flat teeth crushing the bottle with an audible crack of glass that leaves his gums bleeding.

The wound was enough to trigger the transformation.

Another explosion occurs, leaving Arthur and the rest of the team’s visions filled with white, hot steam.

 

                They wake Feliciano up; help pull him out of a titan carcass that to their glee, isn’t evaporating because it’s fully hardened into pure crystal.

For some unreasonable explanation, Feliciano had managed to do the impossible. He managed to harden his titan’s skin along with the rest of the underground dome, crystallizing the area around it.

They gladly tell Feliciano about it, how he did it, how he saved them all, and most especially, how they now could take Wall Maria back from the titans using his new ability.

They can close the hole in the wall now!

Amidst the celebration, the teens all teary again and one of them somehow managed to save Williams who was currently unconscious but alive, Arthur finds himself walking away from them.

He walks towards the mess, the fallen debris where he knows Alistair and the rest of his men were buried alive. He sees some groaning, half their bodies smashed but fighting to get up anyway and tries to look for that familiar face.

He approaches a woman who he believes is Alistair’s right-hand, currently on her knees, trying to pull a comrade from the wreckage. She notices his approach and gives him a wary look, her hand drifting protectively over her comrade protectively.

“Where’s Alistair?”

She seems to think about her answer carefully at first, then with a resigned sigh, she points at the tall trees behind her. Arthur follows with his eyes and notices the trail of blood, leading down a lake nearby. He follows.

He finds him by the lake, alright, almost lifeless with how his chest barely moved, his entire form soaked in his own blood. His anti-human manoeuvring gear was broken and left discarded a little bit farther from his person.

He almost believes the older man to be dead when suddenly, he speaks, low and tired, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Alistair,” he says as he steps closer to hear him better. He observes the man’s current condition for a minute before continuing, “Severe burns, all that blood loss…looks like it’s over for you, old man.”

Alistair manages to scoff weakly, almost inaudible. “You think so?” His hand weakly moves, catching Arthur’s attention on what’s underneath that large palm: titan serum. His eyes widen, now alarmed.

“I swiped one from the idiot’s bag,” he mutters. “I’m guessin’ that this will turn me into a titan.”

“A _stupid_ titan,” he laughs, weakly. “But at least it will keep me alive for a while longer,” he adds, croaking out words, fingers weak and uncoordinated as they try to fumble for the vial and the syringe. Arthur doesn’t bother to steal it from his hands, knowing that from the beginning, Alistair had no longer the strength to properly inject it on himself.

He’s dying.

“You have the time and energy before to use than on yourself,” Arthur tells him, curious. “Why didn’t you?”

Alistair smiles, eyes on the ground, unfocused and unseeing. “Heh, if I did it wrong, I’ll probably turn out all messed up like him.” He’s referring to the royal who injected himself with the serum sloppily, who killed all his men---Alistair’s men---out of desperation to keep the power a secret.

“There’s no way you’d just sit around and die. Try again.”

“Sure, I don’t want to—“ gasp, inhale, “---die. I want power but, oh. I’ve seen it all, Arthur.”

Alistair’s eyes are now closed and Arthur doubts the older man is aware of it. He continues to focus on breathing and gasping, forcing his lungs to function for longer than it was supposed to be as he continues to speak, his voice slowly losing its volume as he goes on.

“Booze, women, God, money, the King, power…” His voice fades out into a gasp and then he chuckles, amused and bitter at the same time. “…love, family.” Both of his hands twitched until the other was grasping at his own wrist, fingers pressing on his own soulmate tattoo.

“Humans can’t keep going unless they’re drunk on something…they all slaves to something.” He coughs, breaking his line of thought as he suddenly laughs, surprisingly louder than Arthur had thought he was capable of.

“Wh, who do you think you are? Some kind of hero?” He chokes out, laughing; the strain of the feat itself caused him to cough out blood. Before the man dies talking gibberish, Arthur grabs both of his shoulders, keeping him grounded.

“Alistair.”

“Tell me everything you know, why doesn’t the first king want to survive?”

Arthur’s inquiry makes Alistair laugh some more, choking out, “The hell would I know? But it’s why the Kirklands tried to oppose him in the first place,” he coughs out more blood, this time splattering Arthur’s cheek.

“My last name seems to be Kirkland too,” he breathes out, “Just who are you to my mother?”

“Hah! Just her brother.”

The revelation leaves Arthur’s blood going cold, his lungs hallowed out like the air was forcibly sucked out and his vision narrows into nothing but him and Alistair.

It was the last straw and Arthur’s expression finally breaks, his brows furrowed and his mouth turned into an anguished frown, the backs of his eyes prickles with unshed tears.

All these years, he had thought he was all alone, had lived his life as Arthur. Just _Arthur_ because he’s nothing but a bastard child and his mother a low-class whore in the damp, dark, and detestable underground.

All these years, he had never known that the very man who had taken him under his wings and taught him how to live as he had now---

\---was his family.

“Then—“ Arthur’s voice began to break, the sound music to Alistair’s ears as his lips quirked up at the sound, “—that day, all those years ago…”

“Why did you leave me?”

Silence.

Arthur waits but nothing replies.

He felt his vision swim, his surroundings blurry from tears still fighting from falling.

Then, “…’cause ,” it begins, low and so very tired. It catches Arthur by surprise and he blinks, looking up at Alistair’s dying form, lips barely moving but still speaking.

“I can’t be some kid’s father.” Arthur was suddenly pushed, Alistair’s hand pushing the small case of titan serum to Arthur’s chest with what’s left of his strength as he finally dies and the surroundings finally break into deafening silence.

Arthur’s body was too weak at the moment to expect the hand and thus effectively pushing his body down into the ground, eyes wide as he stares unblinkingly at the corpse of what would be the last of his remaining family.

A family he had never known he had until forty-fucking-seven years later.

 

          “Captain Arthur!”

The sound drives Arthur out of his reverie. His eyes widen, his shoulders twitch up, and his breath hitches. Somehow, he thinks that voice is familiar and he idly wonders why.

His answer came in the form of Alfred, young and curious and then worried as he crouches down beside Arthur and peers into his face. His eyes, blue and bright, still appeared to be glowing underneath the darkening sky and looks at Arthur with unbidden worry.

“Sir?” He asks, voice low, as if he knows that if he were to speak any louder, Arthur’s going to break further.

Then his hand slowly darts out to touch Arthur’s cheeks only to come up wet and glistening with warm, fresh tears.

Arthur blinks in surprise only to realise that the tears came from his own eyes, flowing uncontrollably and prohibited.

The comprehension slowly sinks into his mind and then as if embarrassed, he tries to duck his head away, completely and utterly clueless at how to act in such a situation as he had never been in one before.

It’s degrading.

It’s pathetic.

It’s pitiful.

He tries to speak, forcing the gears in his head to turn as they come up with a reasonable excuse as to why he was found in such an embarrassing situation unfit for someone of his rank.

He’s Alfred’s superior officer, for fuck’s sake. He can’t be seen by his subordinates weak.

What use is a leader if they cannot be strong for their people?

_Do you think you’re some kind of hero?_

Arthur knows he wasn’t.

He never was one to begin with.

But right now, people needed one.

Alistair was right, in the end. People cannot keep on going unless they’re drunk on something. Julius Vargas with his victories; his grandson Feliciano with revenge; Arthur---

Arthur with his stupid quest for love.

Suddenly he’s babbling, tears flowing out of his eyes completely unrestricted as he blinks them away to clear his vision to no avail. He couldn’t even manage to push the boy off as he was grabbed by the sides as pulled towards Alfred’s body, warm and comfortable.

Then his lips were pressed to Alfred’s warm ones.

It ended far too soon, leaving Arthur cold and empty.

“How much had you heard?” He manages to say in the end, voice weak and resigned. He doesn’t understand why Alfred did what he did.

Alfred’s brows furrow and he looks away, guilty. His hands were still on Arthur’s shoulders, warm. “Enough.”

Arthur sighs, all the torrent of emotions suddenly leaving him like blown out candle.

It was pity, then. Typical of Alfred. And here Arthur was, already in the brink of treating the boy like an adult, like how he had always wanted to be.

It seems like Alfred was still too young and inexperienced to be treated as such.

He slowly puts his hands on top of Alfred’s hands and carefully pulls them away from his body, the other silently following suit. When the hands were taken off, he stands up, the titan serum now on one of his hands. He supposes he better get back to the rest, report his findings and show Williams the serum so the scientist can study its contents----

Alfred grabs at his arm, pulling him to a halt.

“Captain, wait!” He says, pleading.

Arthur has none of it, however and tries to pull his arm free.

To no avail, Alfred’s hold on his arm firm and strong.

Stronger than he had initially thought.

“Sir---Arthur, please!”

Alfred calling him by his name for the first time---it comes as a shock, to be honest. It makes him pause.

“Please, hear me out.” Alfred pleads before he gives Arthur’s arm a gentle squeeze.

He slowly turns his head to look at Alfred. The sun has finally set, painting the skies black and blue, the lake before time glowing underneath the moonlight, and the air bringing about a chill that wracks Arthur’s frame. He’s not wearing his cloak to protect him from the cold.

Then he realises how incredibly _warm_ Alfred’s hand is on his arm and he looks down, sees that his sleeve was torn---probably from all he had went through a few hours prior, showing the god-forsaken tattoo for anyone who cares to look. He notices with dread that Alfred’s eyes were focused on them.

His suspicions were only validated when Alfred’s thumb started to run through it, the pad of his finger feeling for the rise of Arthur’s skin, the ugly strokes of letters that spells out, “the wings of freedom.”

Alfred says them aloud, whispers it through the breeze, eyes unblinking as he continued to stare at the words with new found awe.

“No,” Arthur says, head shaking in disbelief.

“You,” He starts, then pulls his arm back with all his strength until it’s released. He cradles his arm to his chest, as if wounded and he looks at Alfred with fear in his eyes. His eyes start to prickle once again with fresh tears.

“You can’t be…” He chokes out.

“ _It can’t be_!” He shouts, as if shouting his denial would make it real.

But the way Alfred’s head turned up to look at him right in the eyes, just as pained as he was, looking at him with longing, Arthur knows it cannot be undone.

So Arthur cried.

Then he runs, away from Alfred and back to the others, to act like none of that had ever happened. To act like he had never known.

And then, Alfred was never seen again.

 

                For a while, they have about six months of peace.

A new heir to the throne reveals herself and the people happily accepts her warmly, most especially if she’s the one responsible in taking down that large, horrifying titan who was once the true king that ruled them all.

Arthur remembers it vividly in his memories.

The coronation day.

It was of course, held at the interior of Wall Sina, the people present to see their new ruler being crowned. Everyone wants to be present to see the beginning of the new era.

Then everything went suddenly all wrong.

Something explodes in the distance; the gust of wind it produced was strong enough to blow crowds away, their bodies slamming back down to the earth with a disgusting splat of meat, blood staining the brick ground red.

The sight itself causes the rest to panic, making them all scream and run in different directions, causing the military to break from their positions to calm the people down and help them evacuate the premises as members of the Scouting Legion assigned to guard the Queen’s safety began to guide her down an underground tunnel.

A titan has just appeared.

Unlike from the others, its entire body is covered in hair, resembling an ape.

Feliciano was quick to transform and a fight ensues.

 

                Arthur was one of the assigned elites to ensure the Queen’s safety and right now, he’s the only  soldier left at her side as the rest left to join the fight and support Feliciano in all their power. They have their complete faith in Arthur and his abilities to do the job well by himself.

Dicks, he bitterly tells the Queen is what they are. She laughs, albeit nervously. She had never met a man speak so vulgar before until Captain Arthur, of course.

In all the time she had been under the man’s guidance she still couldn’t find a good way to react to his strange sense of humour.

Then something sharp explodes in the back of her head and she collapses.

Arthur jumps, surprised. He was not fast enough to see a figure in the darkness, awaiting them and so he failed to protect her from a flying dagger, thick and heavy and fast that darted towards them and embedded itself into her skull, killing her instantly.

He calls for her name, catching her falling body into his arms. He cradles her head, sees how well-aimed the assassin was when he noticed how it had perfectly hit its target with incredible precision.

Eyeballs may be rubbery but they’re still the softest part of the head that you can poke to get to the brain without the skull getting in the way.

Arthur breathes slowly before looking towards their attacker, “I thought that military police at that time was your first kill?”

“Tell me, who is the innocent child you ate to get that form, Alfred?”

At the mention of his name, he finally reveals himself, lets the lights from the tiny crevices in the ceiling to touch him and let Arthur see him. It has been six months since Alfred’s disappearance.

Everyone had thought him dead.

Then Williams uncovers some old texts, the letters exchanged by the moles Julius Vargas has managed to smoke out during the battle in Stohess and by the border of Wall Rose.

Originally, three titan shifters were sent out to infiltrate the walls and pose as humans. Their mission is to kill humanity inside the walls once the time is right.

Unfortunately, only two managed to get in. The third child was eaten by a titan on their journey to the walls.

It’s now a known fact amongst the Scouting Legion that the reason pure titans eat people is because they are searching for a shifter. They are seeking to drink a shifter’s spinal fluid, stealing their power to transform to turn themselves human.

Since titan shifters are considered titans by the humans and humans by the titans, they carry traits of both species.

The humans: their forms and the titans: their lack of soul mate-identifying marks.

Alfred doesn’t have a mark.

Alfred is the last mole that managed to operate right under their fucking noses.

“It’s not like that,” Alfred says, frowning.

“You killed the Queen,” Arthur hisses.

“I don’t have a choice! I committed a crime to their people! This is the only way I can repay them for what I stole!”

“I thought you said you want to set humanity free? Is that a fucking lie to make me fucking believe?”

Arthur’s outburst had left his voice cracking, his eyes stinging, and his heart aching. The sight itself was enough to leave Alfred speechless, words locked tight in his throat. He looks at Arthur, forlorn, an arm raised to cover his mouth as he inhales deep through his nose.

“What I said before, in front of your uncle, they’re all true.” Breathing out, Alfred continues, voices starting to crack and eyes clouded with tears, “I love you. Ever since that day, when you came down flying and saving our sorry asses, I loved you.”

They both pause when they felt the ground tremble, the tunnel’s ceilings threathening to collapse over them. The fight outside is still tense and ongoing. Alfred looks up, studying the ceiling, “Feliciano is losing,” he says “and they’re going to kill you all. I’m sorry, but I can’t have that.”

When has Alfred managed to get close? Arthur doesn’t know but suddenly his entire body can longer move on his own, his soul trapped in his own body as Alfred pulls at Arthur’s sleeve, exposing his arm. A syringe is pressed into his veins and Arthur just knows that it was the titan serum and it’s now flowing in his system.

“I love you, Arthur.” Were Alfred’s last words before Arthur’s vision goes dark and he’s trapped.

In an endless nightmare.

 

**Year […]**

                Amidst the darkness, he hears a noise.

It felt like ages when Arthur manages to feel his own body again move from his own will and once he does, something shatters around his body and he stumbles, coughing when dirt enters his lungs, dry and painful.

He could barely feel his legs and right now they felt wrong. Not his, as he tries feel them through his boots and fails.

He falls, finally, only to be caught in a pair arms, huge and warm and his nose makes contact with something familiar that reminds him of love and betrayal.

Arthur finally remembers how to open his eyes, so he does so, carefully and he squints when light trickle into his vision and stings his eyes. The first thing his eyes see once he’d finally adjusted, having recently woken from long slumber, were _those eyes_. Blue and bright and beautiful. The colour he had remembered once associated with what he had always thought the sea would look like. How he had once thought he could be with once he did finally saw the sea, once they have finally freed humanity.

But of course, he’s Arthur. Just Arthur. He doesn’t deserve such a thing.

So he tries to recall how to speak, slowly moving his jaw open and ignores the terrifying squeak his bones make after years and years of disuse to speak, his voice scratchy but filled with bitterness as he says, "Well, fuck me sideways, it’s _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> And DONE!  
> Expect a third part (and final part) in a few months, where Arthur finally interacts with his soulmate's reincarnation. Hopefully, it won't take me this long because I don't need to haul out my SNK manga and reread a bunch of parts for reference.
> 
> Important notes:  
> (1) Arthur was born in the year 808.  
> (2) Year 855 actually extends up to year 857, around late February.  
> (3) Arthur’s mother was 15 when she gave birth and dies at 25. Alistair was 28 when he takes custody.  
> (4) There are three military factions a graduate may enter namely: the scouting legion, where only the crazy would join because of the high mortality rate because they leave the walls to fight titans at an attempt to capture new territories for humanity. After the fall of Wall Maria, it became their new mission to retrieve the wall; the military police, whose main purpose is to serve the king. Only the top ten graduates have the privilege to join and it is considered to provide most safest and nicest living quarters because they are stationed in the interiors, with the King. Composed of mostly the corrupt; and lastly, we have the garrison, whose duty is guard the walls. This is where majority of the soldiers go, so it makes up most of the military, all in all.  
> (5) As far as I know, the titan serum would not turn you into a titan shifter, just a mindless titan that eats people. The only way to become a titan shifter is as stated before, to drink a titan shifter’s spinal fluid to steal the power.  
> (6) Pure titans---what we shall call the mindless titans that eat people. The term is coined after the discovery of titan shifters. Doesn’t have the ability to turn human.  
> (7) Arthur describing the feeling of becoming a mindless titan a “never ending nightmare”: this is heavily based on SNK’s titan-turned human Ymir’s testimony when she tried to recall her life as a titan wondering outside the walls.  
> (8) The crime Alfred is referring to at the end of year 857 was when he had eaten a titan shifter, stealing its power and thus compromising the infiltrator’s mission. Regardless, the invasion still happened but a crime is a crime and Alfred is sentenced to death.  
> (9) This was all in Arthur’s POV, as he recalls his life until he gets forcibly turned into a titan. We can all assume that Alfred allowed himself to be eaten by titan!arthur, passing down his ability including the capability to harden his skin, thus explains why Arthur was trapped in a limbo between a brick wall. Try to imagine how Aang got trapped in an iceberg.  
> (10) Why do Arthur's first words to 2016!Alfred differs from what 2016!Alfred heard him say? Simple: translation error. Let's all remember that Arthur's speaking an older and weirder ver of german here. The english equivalent that Alfred and everyone had translated them into was crude at best. I should also add that the way Arthur said "you" here was actually him directly referring to Alfred's name. idk, LANGUAGE is weird. One day, I'll find the time to write down how modern german differs from Arthur's old language (that I totally made up)


End file.
